


Move Over, Darling

by Ellen Smithee (ellensmithee)



Series: Que Sera Sera [2]
Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-22
Updated: 2011-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-26 10:04:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellensmithee/pseuds/Ellen%20Smithee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damon finds a way to apologize to Alaric. AU from 3x07 on. Sequel to "Pillow Talk."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Move Over, Darling

Alaric wiped off his toothbrush and stuck it back in the holder, pausing to look at himself in the mirror before he headed to bed. Alaric's eyes were bloodshot from the beer he'd been drinking in his apartment earlier (alone, without Damon), and he looked like he hadn't slept in days—which was pretty much the long and short of it. A part of him just wanted to go crawling back to Damon, apology or not, as long as he had his old friend back again. But then he remembered everything Damon had done to him and how he didn't even _like_ Damon right now. And the worst of it was that Damon didn't even seem to realize that he _owed_ Alaric an apology, like Alaric didn't even matter to him. Obviously Alaric had been way more invested in their friendship than Damon. And _that_ hurt even more than Damon killing him again.

He entered his room without flipping on the light switch and approached the bed. The house was quiet, and he was alone, Elena at Bonnie's for a sleepover and Jeremy still at the Grill. If he got to sleep early enough, maybe Jeremy wouldn't notice how much he'd been drinking when he got home.

He'd just lifted the covers and was about to get into bed when an accusatory voice came out of the darkness.

"Where've you been? You never showed at the Grill, and I've been waiting here for hours."

Alaric practically jumped out of his skin.

"Damon!? What the fuck!"

"You've been drinking, I can smell it—do you have a new drinking buddy or something? I'll bet he's not as good as me."

Alaric reached over and turned on the light, blinking at the sudden glare. Damon was lying on his bed, his shoes off, his shirt unbuttoned, and his hair disheveled, obviously more than a little drunk, the bottle still in his hand, and looking absolutely _fuckable_. Alaric immediately pushed that last thought out of his head. He was still mad at Damon, for fuck's sake, and it wasn't like they did that sort of thing anyways, weird phone calls notwithstanding.

"What do you _want_ , Damon?" he asked.

"Muhammad wouldn't come to the mountain, so here I am!"

Closing his eyes, Alaric reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "That's not how that saying goes."

"Whatever," Damon said. He held out the bottle to Alaric. "Drink?"

"Once again—what're you doing here, Damon?" Alaric folded his arms over his chest demonstratively, though his eyes lingered on the bottle. His fingers twitched under his elbow and he pressed them against his ribs.

Damon took a sip from the bottle.

"I need someone to drink with," he said. "And Stef is just a great ball of laughs at the moment."

"Then go to the Grill," Alaric said with a scowl. "I'm sure you'll find someone there who you haven't killed yet who's willing to have a drink with you."

Damon groaned and fell back against the pillow.

"Are you _still_ on about that?" he asked. "Okay, fine. I'm sorry. Are you happy now? Can we go back to our regularly scheduled boozing and debauchery?"

"That's the most self-serving, insincere fauxpology I've ever heard. You just said that so I'll get drunk with you. Well, drunker."

Damon groaned. "Give me a break, Rick. You know I mean it. Don't make me beg."

Alaric sighed. He knew that, with Damon, this was as good as it was going to get. "Fine," he said, stretching out his arm. "Gimme the bottle."

Damon started to hand over the bottle and then pulled away, holding it just out of reach of Alaric's hand. "Of course, I could make _you_ beg."

Something in Damon's tone, something in his eyes, told Alaric that this wasn't just one of Damon's flirty comments this time, but he pushed the feeling away. He climbed onto the bed next to Damon and crawled under the covers.

"Just give me the bottle," he said, reaching for it. Damon let him have it, but not without letting his fingers brush against Alaric's.

Alaric tipped his head back as he took a long draft from the bottle. He was vaguely aware of Damon moving closer, the other man's body pressed against his side. He was about to protest when Damon suddenly rested his chin on Alaric's shoulder.

"Aren't you the least bit curious what it would be like?" Damon murmured, his breath hot against Alaric's throat. "The two of us? You seemed totally into it that time we had phone sex."

Alaric's body went rigid at Damon's words. By some unspoken agreement, they'd never discussed it till now, and Alaric had been hoping Damon had forgotten it in his drunken stupor that night.

"You're kidding," he said hoarsely, but Damon was sliding his fingers through Alaric's chest hair, and Alaric wasn't doing a damn to stop him.

"Thought so," Damon murmured. He leaned forward and kissed Alaric, taking advantage of Alaric's surprised gasp to slip his tongue into Alaric's mouth. Damon tasted of bourbon and something else, something metallic that Alaric didn't even want to think about, and Alaric knew he should push Damon away, but instead he was pulling Damon closer, returning the kiss like he'd been needing this all along without even knowing it.

And then Damon was gone, and the bottle, too, and Alaric let out a whimper of protest, although he wasn't exactly sure which loss he was protesting. Damon chuckled from the other side of the room, and then, just as quickly, he was back, under the covers, pressing against Alaric hot and squirmy and naked and Alaric was certain he was about to come in his pants.

"You're overdressed," Damon said, and his hands were at the waistband of Alaric's boxers, tugging them down. Alaric knew he should tell Damon to stop, and he meant to, too, but instead he lifted his hips and helped Damon push down his boxers. Then Damon was all over him, rubbing against him, grazing his fingers over Alaric's shoulders, down his sides to his hips. Alaric gasped and arched his back as Damon's tongue found his nipple, and he raked his nails down Damon's back, eliciting a moan from the other man. Lightning fast, Damon grabbed his arms and pinned them over his head, crushing his lips to Alaric's mouth as he insinuated himself between Alaric's legs.

"Last chance to say 'no'," he said, breaking the kiss. "Though I can't guarantee I'll stop."

Alaric chuckled.

"Then don't stop," he murmured, running his tongue over the seam of Damon's lips before pushing it insistently inside. Damon moaned into his mouth, and then released one of Alaric's hands, reaching between them to grab both their cocks. Alaric inhaled sharply as Damon started to stroke. He thrust into the vise of Damon's hand, moaning deep in his throat as his prick rubbed against Damon's, sending sparks through his whole body.

"Damon," he breathed, unable to say anything more, but Damon seemed to know what he meant.

"Yeah," Damon whispered and then, "Alaric," and then he squeezed _just so_ and Alaric was coming, filling the space between them.

Damon collapsed onto him, murmuring nonsense words as he pressed kisses to Alaric's chin and throat. Alaric's arms slid around Damon's shoulders, holding the other man there. Damon felt warm and perfect and _right_ in his arms and Alaric never wanted to let go.


End file.
